TWO WEEKS IN VALENCIA

 Travelling solo is a mix of emotions and experiences. On the one hand, it is freeing and confidence building. Here I am, hopping across the pond, finding my way through airports and public transit systems in a foreign country, arriving at the apartment which is to be my home in Valencia for two weeks. Although my sixth time in Spain, my first time in Valencia.

On the other hand, it can also be challenging, obstacles that would be negligible at home, loom larger in a place where you don’t speak the language (apart from a few words and phrases), don’t really know the culture, and don’t know a soul. Jet lag, sleepless nights, and a strange prickly heat kind of rash that you’ve never encountered before while travelling (but you attribute to some skin sensitivity caused by recent antibiotics) can undermine that confidence.

But this is what travel is about, isn’t it? Stretching to find ways of navigating yourself when you’re out of your comfort zone. Travel is not all glamour and fun. Although it can be (the fun part, not the glamour part because no one is going to mistake me, in my casual, repetitive, small wardrobe for a glamourous woman).

Because I’m here in Valencia for two weeks, I didn’t feel I had to rush around and pack everything in. I had slow days where I did nothing more than a load of laundry, hung it on the balcony to dry, strolled the neighbourhood, sat with a café con leche and pastry and a book at an outdoor café. Then there were days where I took a walking tour, met a friend of a friend who lives here for lunch at a book café and a stroll, went on a day trip to two gorgeous little towns (Altea and Guadalest), explored the old town and its maze of narrow streets, visited museums, took a tram down to the beach and port area, wandered into markets (so much fresh produce and tasty snacks available), sat outdoors with tapas and a glass of wine.

A supermarket sat directly across the street from my apartment and I frequented it almost daily, even buying a dozen eggs! I’ve never bought eggs before when I travel, but this longer stay has been different. And the eggs are not stored in the refrigerator like they are at home. Curious, I looked up why and found out that eggs in the U.S. and Canada are sprayed for bacteria, making their shells weaker and thus requiring refrigeration. While eggs in Europe are not.

I’ve been in a comfy apartment (owned by a Canadian friend) in an area inhabited mostly by locals, and once I got used to the little differences (the tiny washing machine can take hours for a very small load) and the gas stove that you light with actual matches, I began to feel more settled, except for some sleepless nights (that rash I mentioned and the nighttime mind monsters which can take you down rabbit holes and question the wisdom of your decisions of travelling solo as an older person who recently had a bout of stomach bacteria before leaving home). But within a couple of days my tummy settled and the odd rash and itchiness cleared.

Am I glad I made this decision to travel more slowly this time? I will contemplate my trip more fully when I return home. Perspective on some things is best delayed until a bit of distance has been put between the experience and the reflection. But I can say with certainty that I’ve very much enjoyed my time here in Valencia. It is a lovely walkable city, on a smaller scale than Madrid, and thus, for me, more enjoyable.

There are various neighbourhoods, parks, gardens, streets, old town, new town, waterfront, museums, markets, to explore. The Turia garden (once an old riverbed) snakes for miles through the city and is a joy to walk. I made the mistake of stepping onto the red clay path to stroll and a passing jogger called out to me “Afuera", and I understood immediately this path was for joggers only (confirmed later by runner signs). Pérdon!

I’ve been sleeping in past 8 a.m. (unheard of for me at home), even waking up at 9 one day!  And in the time I’ve been here, the Artemis crew have been to the moon and back, looking at Planet Earth from space, giving a whole new meaning to perspective, and hope to all of us watching the news with trepidation.

I feel I’ve discovered a lot of Valencia in these past two weeks, but of course one can never really learn about a place, truly get to know it, without living in it for a while, as a local. As a visitor, you can skim the surface, touch the highlights, walk the streets to feel the hum of life, drink a horchata and nibble on a farton (forgetting to dunk it), think you’re getting the feel of the place despite not fully understanding the language that floats to your ears.

But you know you are merely passing through and do not know the true heart of the place. And that’s okay, because that part of the city is not meant for you. You are an outsider looking in, and you’ve been granted a taste of what life is like here. And you appreciate that and are grateful for it.